The End
by SoldierNoodles
Summary: In which two young boys realize that they need each other to defeat their obstacles. It would be the first time that they would ever experience this. (COLLEGESTUCK)
1. Prequel

**BE KARKAT.**

It was the first time that you'd ever actually seen him in class, or in general, really. Gamzee Makara had finally made his first appearance in school; clad in baggy black jeans and a dark purple t-shirt, he attentively slept on a heap of lime green fabric bundled on his desk. His hair was a mess and cascaded lazily around his face and strayed down his neck, you wondered absent minded-ly why the school hadn't just expelled the dumbfuck for actually showing up.

"Uh, Gamzee!"

_Oh_. Looks like somebody actually looked forward to seeing him,

"I'm glad that you, uh, came today... and uh, bro, you know it would be awesome if you would come tomorrow too, uh, or, you know, if you'd like."

Fucking Tavros. Of course, you recall, Tavros and Gamzee are best 'bros' after all. You wonder why in the fuck anyone would want a useless friend like Gamzee.

"Man, Tav, I've been feelin' motherfuckin' awful bro."

Yeah for three fucking months, fuckass.

"Well what's wrong, uh, bro?" Tavros genuinely was worried, chocolate eyes glistening, "You haven't called, or texted."

"Man Tav, I feel awful cause I have to tell you this but, bro it's nothin' a motherfucker can help me with."

Tavros gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, flushing a little, "It's okay, Gamz."

You cease listening to the conversation after your teacher enters the classroom, now fully focused on school you tune out any other shenanigans.

12 o'clock, on the dot- lunch.

You walk outside to the back of the school. It's nice outside; the sky is a pale blue, almost grey. This week's forecast predicted heavy showers over the weekend, not that you mind; rain is nice during the summer. As usual the surrounding areas behind the school seem empty, it's a little windy so you decide to sit at one of the tables inside the school trail instead of the ones against the back wall. Just as you begin to bit into your tuna sandwich you get the feeling that you're not alone.

And you're not.

Maybe ten feet or so, in front of you lies a sleeping Gamzee Makara, all (what seemed like) six foot and five inches of him. His chest rises softly with his slow breathing, in his right hand is a bottle of orange soda called 'Faygo', he was still using his bright green hoodie as a pillow and every so often the wind would blow and ruffle his curly hair. The long cascading strands get stuck on the bark of the tree he uses to support his lanky body.

You begin to eat your sandwich.

You wonder if he realizes that someone could just snatch his phone out of his lap, but upon noticing what kind of phone it is you scratch the thought. The sun creeps out from behind the clouds and reveals a shining trail of drool in the corner of his mouth. _Ew_.

Picking up your brown paper bag you finish the last bits of the tuna sandwich and head back to class- the bell had rung.

"Has anyone seen Gamzee?"

It was something that both his math teacher and Tavros wanted to know, you don't answer though, it'd be a waste of time. The minute hand on the clock ticks by, slowly.

"Karkat?"

You look up, the teacher is calling you.

"What?"

"Your math grade has fallen to a 76 from a 93 within two weeks." She scratches her brow, "Anything wrong?"

"No." You practically spit, it's _nothing_ she'd understand,

"Well your grade is extremely important, especially since your a very popular name here at Murberry, I want you to succeed the next two years, so I'm requesting," the snob puts emphasis on the word, "that you study and be tutored by a peer."

You are seething silently.

"He's possibly the smartest student I've ever had, and very respected, he's easygoing and a little strange but you two should get along fine. Also, I've already contacted your father."

If this asshat, under any circumstance says _E-_

"Oh, there you are _Gamzee_, come here a second!"

Your brain is now most certainly part of your left ass cheek. You become lightheaded as you feel Gamzee's presence grow more overwhelming as he drags himself towards the teacher's desk.

"Hey there Karkat, how's it going sis?"

"Everything is going fine Gamzee," she smiles brightly at the sleezeball before continuing, "remember how I mentioned you helping out one of the underclassmen?"

"Oh, yeah, _yeah_, I remember that." He coughs a little,

"Well this is Karkat Vantas and I would like you to tutor him-"

**FOR THE REST OF THE SEMESTER.**

Your shit has officially hit the fan and taken your brain right along with it, at this point there is only so much English that you can muster before exploding into a parallelogram of omnipotent rage and annihilating Murberry College for all of the fuck that it is not worth. Gamzee is standing right next to you and looking DOWN at you like you are some sort of KITTEN and you try your hardest not to kick him in his throat and make his regurgitate whatever weed this fuckbucket has been eating- or smoking, or whatever. You spend the rest of your day WALKING HOME, and muttering like A MENTAL PATIENT all the way there. There are so many things that DO NOT MAKE SENSE, how in the fuck could _Gamzee_ be a top scoring student if he cannot even show up to school and function for A WHOLE DAY. This is college damnit, _college, _yeah sure it's different from most and you have smaller classes because there are only so many other people with your caliber of genius, BUT THIS IS COLLEGE, and you do not see TUTOR in the equation that is COLLEGE. On top of that you can smell the WEED on EVERY SINGLE INCH of his body, STONERS CANNOT EVEN GRASP THE CONCEPT OF REALITY BECAUSE THEY LIVE IN A DRUG INDUCED STATE OF MIND. You punch the wall as you make your way up the stairs and cry out at the pain. Pathetically holding your fist in your hand you pull your phone from your pocket to answer a message:

_'Hahahah... Gamzee Makara, is your fucking tutor? Oh man, Karkat, I thought you were at least intelligent and not just a small fucking eyesore, but boyyy was I wrong. See you tomorrow fucker.'_

Your mood goes from _infuriated_ to _terrified_.

Not only is Gamzee Makara, Bob Marley's legacy and prophet, your tutor (who you still could not grasp had any sort of academic knowledge whatsoever) but the world's last legitimate bully, who for some reason was only interested in harassing Karkat Vantas, knew.

Now Jack could beat you up while singing Reggae tunes.

Fucking great.

_Rate and Review? Maybe some of your thoughts of what you think I'm going to do next?_

_...or should this end here?_


	2. Follow the Leader

**[S] Gamzee: Sober Up.**

You don't necessarily know how to describe this feeling. It starts in your chest and tickles its way down to your tummy. You curl your toes under the thin sheet of your bed pile and blink, slowly; it takes you to pull your eyelids far apart for your long eyelashes to separate from their grasp on each other. You sigh, burying your face into your pillow, your self-pity party making motherfucking headline news somewhere where someone gives a shit, when suddenly you convulse. It's nothing shocking, nor is it life threatening, but it's that motherfucking feeling- _again_. You've been getting it a lot lately, and it's scaring you now. Nonetheless you follow up with the small movement and end up in a fetal position underneath the beige cover.

You feel like you're forgetting something important.

But you're probably not.

And it's so motherfucking cold in here.

[THE END]

**BE KARKAT. **

It's finally Saturday, a day that you've dreaded since this Monday. You're supposed to be at Gamzee's tonight, sometime between eight and seven; you wonder if the fuckass would be eagerly waiting for you or something pathetic since he told you, some four days in advance, that he'd be home and waiting. You look at your cheap wristwatch; it's four o'clock. If you had any friends you'd contact them and probably vent rage soaked blasphemies, but you only came to this college because they offered a full run academic scholarship and money remained beyond tight in your household. You planned on transferring any day now that there were more offers on table yet again. Still, this remained an instance where you wished that you'd at least become acquaintances with one of those buttmunchers. You decide to take another shower, and then a nap, but that only manages to kill two hours so you end up staring into your closet. You retrieve your phone from your pocket and glance through the hourly forecast, which proclaims the rest of today to be **monochromatic** and rainy, but when you catch the sight of raging streams from the ceiling down to your window you correct the weather forecast to **troublesome** and drenched. You turn your attention back to your closet, looking for a certain sweater and another pair of khaki pants. You've decided on a soft cashmere sweater your dad bought you a few weeks ago during Christmas, it was one out of a set of three and they seemed expensive. You pull the sweater on over your black undershirt and slip into your khakis; you then proceed to your laptop just before stopping about three feet short of it.

Where the fuck did Gamzee live anyways?

Oh, dear god. You can feel yourself becoming bovine at the thought; Jesus, don't let him live in the dorms-you grab for your cell again, and you text him. Under the name of IWISHYOUWOULDJUSTDIE, are skinny letters appearing in various orders that eventually spell out: _WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU LIVE?_

Seconds later there is a reply: _Motherfuckin' apartment by the bridge. Room 420 :o)_

Oh my god. _This is __hilarious_. You are so disgusted by the ironic convenience of that coincidence that you throw the cellular device across the room, rendering yourself mentally unstable for just ten minutes from the post-wrath explosion before glancing at your watch again. It's seven fifteen now, and guess what?

That's right, you've got mail.

You stalk over to your vibrating cell phone and cringe at the message: _I KNEW I FORGOT SOME IMPORTANT MOTHERFUCKER ;O)_

If you could hate Gamzee anymore than you already did, you'd be hate itself. In fact, you don't even waste any more valuable brain cells to ponder about not understanding why the fuck he would send such a stupid message for no reason, and head out the door the your bookbag securely at your back, and umbrella in hand. Gamzee's apartment is old, rickety and ghetto. It's the only apartment complex by the bridge and will probably be the _first_ to implode in on itself. It smells like a wet dog in addition, which doesn't make the situation any less uncomfortable since it was already wet and raining and smelled like fish anywhere else because of it. You step out of the rain and into the foyer of the apartment; you're in compound four, so you'd need to go up two floors and left one room. This simple task proves to be quite difficult as you nearly fall through a hole that had rusted away along with most of staircase- or if that was even what this creaking old shit was supposed to be- and stumble across the hall, catching yourself violently on Gamzee's door- which, to your misfortune, _promptly_ opens on contact.

Gamzee is wearing a pair of thick black pajama pants with grey polka dots, purple flip-flops and remained shirtless with an empty pie crust grasped in his left hand. He looks you up and down before cracking the most eerie grin and says simply: "Get motherfucking inside, its motherfuckin' wet and smelly outside motherfucker." You do as he says, shocked by his attentiveness in demeanor, and nearly trip over a... trumpet... placed awkwardly in the middle of his teensy doorway. He gestures to follow him and leads you into his kitchen. It's a cubicle, practically, and full of pie. He's putting the green filling of another into the empty pie crust before addressing you once more, "What the fuck are you here for?"

"You're supposed to tutor me." He sticks a finger in the filling and sucks on it before opening the oven with his foot.

"In math." You say. The smell of Gamzee's pies fill the room when you suddenly realize the ingredients of his delicacies sprawled across the countertop.

Oxycodone, marijuana, vodka, Ritalin, flour, sugar, and Cymbalta.

**WHAT? **

You're incoherent, and Gamzee is talking again. "Tryna' motherfuckin' think Karkat. But I just can't motherfucking remember kid." You think to yourself that now would be an excellent time to dismiss yourself from the premises and get the fuck home.

_"Motherfucker,"_ Gamzee slams his fist into the countertop, "look at me when I'm _fuckin'_ talkin to ya." You flinch, and settle into a soft tremor. You don't know how to handle this situation and can hear the blood rushing in your head. You were far from prepared for any scenario like this; you were supposed to come in, sit down, learn nothing, chastise him about being a stupid fuckass, and leave.

For some reason, Gamzee is crying now, "I don't know, I can't... I can't hear my motherfuckin' thoughts, dad won't come home, and I don't understand why the fuck your here right now." You're looking at his face so he doesn't have another outburst, focusing on anything but him; you wonder where he lived up until now for his accent to be so southern slick and heavy. You think maybe he'll break down into some uncontrollable and terrible body wracking sob, maybe one that'll be so intense you could slip away from the complex and back to your house.

"I need help..." He says solemnly, "I need help..." He shouts and then begins backpedalling and trips over the oven door, landing on the hot surface hands first and then his back. He tried vainly to get off of it but he's stuck, and hits his head on the top of the inside of the stove in his panic. The top of his forehead turns read and there is this awful stink of burning hair and the thick metallic of Gamzee's blood filling the air. You're stuck where you are, you want to help, but you can't. You're frozen. You hear the hot sizzling of his skin before he lets out a blood curdling shriek, tears heavy on his cheeks, Gamzee manages to stand up and loses his footing again, falling against the counter and cabinets. They become bloody upon contact; they've peeled off the broken and weak skin from the burn. He's coughing and choking now, flailing helplessly on the floor.

You do your best to get your feet on the floor tile; they're moving you away from Gamzee, out the kitchen, out the doorway, and into the hallway.

It's still pouring outside.

You can still hear Gamzee screaming inside, he's calling you're name through chokes and sobs.

[THE END]

**[S] Karkat: Assist Gamzee.**

It takes more than just courage to reenter the apartment and pick your way around Gamzee. He's stopped shouting and writhing about on the bloodied floor, but he's still shaking terribly, and currently attempting to reach for you. His eyes are wide, completely blood shot and puffy, you think quickly as you observe his body. His hair has matted into knots and the right side of his face is completely soaked in a puddle of his own blood.

You're not calling the fucking cops.

You're not going to sit in silent vigils as he bleeds out and cries to death.

You're not going to bail again.

You aren't going to do nothing.

You decide to leave Gamzee where he is; you're pursuing a degree in bio mechanical engineering- you have to know about anatomy and some medical prophylactics to properly build a task specified machine. You decided to rely on your ever handy leader skills to guide yourself through whatever happens from here on. You'd let Gamzee drain himself of energy and fall asleep, first, then you'd tend to him. For now, though, you clean up. He keeps his garbage bags in the pantry on top of a dozen jars of peanut butter; you grab three, wrap your hand in one and proceed back to the kitchen. Once there you put _everything_ into a bag, starting with those pies, then then medication, then the weed, and all the clown horns and miscellaneous items that infinitely clutter the kitchen. You finish in forty-five minutes and glance over at Gamzee. His eyes are moving, watching you distantly, and he whispers your name when you make eye contact. You sigh, wishing he'd just fucking die-sleep or whatever. You view your handy work, the kitchen is spotless with only filthy surfaces and blood over two fourths of the area. You glance at Gamzee once more and turn on your heels to map out the rest of his home.

There are two bedrooms and a small living room, the living room is empty. One bed room has a huge ass pile of Costco quality clothing and beige bed sheet over it with more empty pie tins, clown horns, and in one corner piles of paper and a red backpack. Actually, to further inspection, there are actually piles all over this teeny apartment; DVD piles, sock piles, food piles, bong piles, you don't find any furniture, actually… just "piles" of shit. It's barren and depressing, really. You decide that this is room with the clothing pile, is the one Gamzee occupies before moving into the next. In here, it's warm and cozy, there's a black carpet near a small bed and white curtains against the windows, and it smells like cigars and salty water, and there are two sets of doors on either side of the room, one is bordered up with plywood though. Being the most sterile area in this apartment, you decide that you would somehow get Gamzee in here to clean him up and treat his wounds. You run back to the kitchen, Gamzee's eyes are squeezed shut; he's crying again, he probably thought that you'd left him again.

"Gamzee! Gamzee I need you to stand up I need to move you so I can help you."

"Please..." He starts, lips quivering, "just... So I don't hurt you too..."

You glare at him. "I'm not going anywhere, fuckass, you're incapable of doing shit and you need," you chose you're words carefully, "**you need a fucking** **leader**."

* * *

_Whoa there. Sunday update. Please, rate, review- write anything, I'm developing a plot now folks :}_

_My goodness, I feel like this fic will be worthwhile :]  
_

_-Soldier  
_


	3. Let Me Think

**[S] Karkat: Proceed**

You'd been visiting Gamzee daily for the past three weeks. You hated to admit it to yourself, but his health was one of your foremost priorities, and since you started to help him through this painful recuperation process you told yourself you wouldn't leave him until he was fully healed. You can remember the night the idiot fell on the stove in a medication induced stupor and cleaning his apartment thoroughly. You had left him for a half hour, once he fell asleep in an unused room in the apartment to fetch (steal) medicine from a lab in the hospital you frequented for school purposes. You returned and began cleaning his wounds. The days were grey and rainy from then on- monochromatic in every sense of the word. Today however there was a small change; when you entered the unlocked apartment Gamzee was standing in the doorway of his room, gritting his teeth in pain.

"What in the ever-loving fuck do you think you're doing?" You scream throwing the ointment and groceries you'd been shopping for across the floor to support the giant, "Go back to the room!"

"Motherfuckin' piss," he whispered, "can't..." You can feel your anger rising as you clarify his situation,

"You can't pee?"

"Can't untie," he says almost silently as he gestures to the bloodied drawstrings of his sweatpants. You grab his forearm and lead him back inside the room and to the bathroom, eying Gamzee suspiciously as he limps past you towards the toilet, he holds his hands up; they're burnt and swollen bright pink with an eerie purple undertone.

You take the initiative and untie the drawstrings.

"Can't touch," he grunts. You tug on the thigh of the thick material and the pants pool at his ankles. Gamzee is wearing neon green briefs with purple dollar signs all over them, 'You're the lucky winner!' plastered in fancy cursive letters against his groin area.

"You... you're sick." You say as you turn away on your heels, "I feel like you kidnap little boys and make them read you're fucking underwear before-." Gamzee is trying to say something, it come out as a moan of pain, but he normally does that when he tries to talk since his accident, "What?"

"I need to pee, please," he almost whispers, and fidgets awkwardly on his feet,

"Okay fuckass; wait a goddamned second," taking a breath you step behind Gamzee and reach your hands around his slender waist to pull down his briefs, "I wonder if maybe you realize that you are a grown ass man and this whole situation fucking creeps me out." Gamzee only grunts as your long fingernails trail down his jutting hip bones, and no sooner have you pulled completely away and the steady sound of trickling water fills the silent void hanging about the bathroom. As the noise dies down Gamzee mutters a weak thanks and steps back from the toilet. He hooks his pinky fingers around the elastic hem of the briefs and pulls them upwards before you can stop him.

"Thanks..." He mutters again, his face is colored a painful red and his jaw is clenched, "Gamzee even I know that," you begin as you step around him, timidly, and point to his crotch, "that is _not_ fucking comfortable. You just squished your fucking dick up against your stomach. You know that you have to fucking sleep face down asshat." Gamzee is silent, he's turned his face slightly upwards and his wry bangs cover his face down to his nose, leaving his expression anonymous. You stand there, wondering if he was thinking of a way to fix his problem, when suddenly his body racks with rough twitches.

"I'm sorry," he groans,

"I'm sorry I'm making you take care of me, you can leave'" As he turns his face down towards yours and his tears roll down his cheeks you feel the most gut wrenching guilt well up inside you. Here is Gamzee Makara, who no-one knows, who no one speaks to, who no one associates themselves with crying. You still haven't figured out why he suddenly uncontrollably sobbing, but you can't really stand to watch him seem so neglected for much longer. You reach up- standing in your toes- and snake you arms around Gamzee's neck, pulling him into a weak embrace. He just stands there at first, crying even harder than before, before sheepishly wrapping his arms around your tiny frame.

"It'll be okay, Gamzee." You coo, as gently and sincere as you can, "You'll be fine."

"Karkat," he whines, "Karkat, I don't understand."

You don't think you've ever felt this vulnerable before, it's a new feeling, compared to the heavy guard that you normally keep up, you feel naked. As Gamzee's grip become stronger and stronger so does this feeling, it washes over you, tickling your spine, lighting your cheeks aflame.

You shove your face into the crook of his neck and can only manage to whisper his name. After a few moments you lead him back to his room and climb in the lightly dressed bed with him.

You've been sleeping for four hours, things are initially fuzzy when you wake up, but you can clearly remember Gamzee's crying fit as you come to. He's sprawled out awkwardly next to you in the bed, his face is calm and plain; he's drooling, excessively, and he seems quite occupied with whatever he could possibly be dreaming about. As your gaze trails over his lean body you just _know_ you're blushing like a tomato when you realize that your fingers are intertwined with Gamzee's, and your palms are pressed warmly against each other's.

**THIS IS WEIRD.**

You immediately try to pull away, snapping your hands back a little too roughly. Gamzee wakes from his sleep just as you manage to pull away, he's watching you, but you're not quite sure if he's thinking or not. There's a glint in his eyes before he finally manages to do anything,

"What's today?" He asks,

"Sunday."

"Why are you still here?"

"Y-,"

"Look motherfucker, I'm going to tell you this _once,_ get the fuck out of here."

You're completely taken aback, and really if Gamzee wasn't already a piece of walking bacon you'd of slapped him, "What the fuck is your problem, asshole? I just slaved th-!"

"No one asked you to!"

"You were screaming my name!" You shout, you've stood up by now, and you're waving your hands about in frustrated gestures, "I couldn't just leave you here; you would've bled to death a-!"

"No Karkat. I would have slept and it would have healed." He lifts himself up_, as if he was never injured in the first place,_ and looks you in the eye, "You should've motherfuckin' been the lame ass coward that you are kept walking."

You're so dumbstruck that you manage to get an iota of thinking time before you speak, "Gamzee you have an issue."

"You aren't my motherfuckin' docter."

"You need help." You insist,

"_Why are you still here?" _He roars. His eyes are glazed over, and really, Gamzee looks more like a dangerous beast than anything human. He's stood up, and lumbers over you, literally _baring_ his teeth at you, his long curly hair has grown to his shoulders and frames his chiseled facial features, his eyes are bloodshot and he's slowly raising his left hand.

_Why am I still here?_

It's a good question. And you know the answer. Something about Gamzee is alluring, maybe his demeanor, or the fact that he remained an enigma even though he seemed so easy to figure out. Perhaps it was the fact that he had_ proven_ that there was more to him- be it drugs and addictions- with this masquerade. Maybe it's because when his eyes become watery and tired his greyish-blue irises seem vividly purple.

You choke when Gamzee lunges across the bed and grips your throat in his hand. He pushes you against the wall behind the both of you and levels his face with yours,

"_What are you looking for?!"_ he screams in your face, you flinch, and feel your eyes becoming heavy.

Gamzee is_ scaring _you.

You open your mouth to speak but only manage a strangled cry and repeat useless syllables of incomprehensible speech. Eventually he's fisted the collar of your shirt and raises you off of your feet and up against the back of the wall, this action successfully cuts off most of you air supply; you think rapidly- first about Gamzee's deteriorated mental state and then about all the medication he'd been pumping into his body.

"I…" You pat his hands and he drops you. When you manage to lift yourself up off the floor and stare into his purple-ish eyes,

"I like you."

You admit it.

* * *

_I've been rushing this whole story; It's time for us to back up and chill the fuck out and make this suspenseful._


	4. Closer

**[S] Gamzee: Analyze, Process, Dissect**

You can't remember when it started raining; you can hear the soft ping of the small water droplets as they collide with the tin roof of the apartment building. Between the drum role of rain pellets Karkat sniffles beneath you softly, tears streaming from his cherry red face. The heels of his palms are pressed hard against his eyes and his fingers are turned into two tight fists,

"I like you!" He manages with a strangled cry; you're not sure if its the fifth or fourth time he's said it but you're sure that you actually heard it this time. As you watch the smaller boy struggle with his emotions you relay whatever memories you can muster and evaluate them.

You can remember going to get pizza- and running into Karkat.

Buying pie from the old lady in the mall- and seeing Karkat.

Your first day back at college- and Karkat watching you the whole motherfucking time.

Experiencing another episode from withdrawal- and Karkat saving you and nursing you back to health.

You know that you should turn him down and save him from thinking he could ever possibly have a normal, loving, relationship with you. Instead you, without thinking at all, encircle your arms around his tiny waist and place your hands on the small of his back while leaning your face into his. As your nose touches his, Karkat's fist rest slowly to his sides.

**[S] Karkat: Realize the sequence of events you've been following since Gamzee returned to college are moving all too fast.**

His lips are callous against yours.

The motion was gentle, timid, but yet prying. Gamzee had bent quite a ways down to reach your face with his, he had pulled your midsections close together and when your lips met you kept your eyes open to search his face but, again, his bangs curtained your view. You slowly creep your hands up his back, feeling all of the bones in his spine with blunt fingernails before finally laying them to rest on his broad shoulders. When he kisses you again (this had to be the third time now) you tangle your fingers into his hair and stand on your toes to return the affection. Finally, he pulls away from you, leaving you slightly breathless,

"Gamzee..." You whisper into his neck, you can feel the vibrations of his voice through his body when he begins to speak,

"You shouldn't get close to me, Karkat, you're dealing with something you might not be able to recover from," he breathes in deeply, "like drugs."

Originally you had planned on a smartass remark, unfortunately it seemed to out of place at a moment like this, so you reiterate your thoughts, "It's okay. I've been hurt a lot."

Gamzee says nothing.

"So, we can heal each other- we can start fresh." You'd said this hurriedly, you know it sounds desperate, but that's okay, because for some reason you are. Again Gamzee says nothing, but he reaches down and shoves his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales sharply,

"_Someone turned the heat on in this party, or we're becoming one, cause I'm melting into your motherfuckin' body_."*

"What-?!" Suddenly your hoisted up over Gamzee's shoulder and thrown onto the bed, it creaks in protest when you land on the mattress and even more so when Gamzee crawls on top of you. You can't possibly imagine what he's thinking and you know your face is flaming because you can feel the scorching heat on your cheeks, "Karkat." Gamzee says softly, his deep voice shaking his body, "Karkat..."

You look up with wide eyes at Gamzee; this is the first time you've ever gotten a proper view of his face, his jaw is clenched and you can see his muscles straining as he grinds his teeth together. His eyes are calm and thoughtful, they tilt downward at the ends and give him a permanently lazy and stoic look. His thick, jet black hair frames his face like a lions mane, it covers your face partially when Gamzee lowers his body onto yours; he's heavy but you embrace the weight and wrap your arms around him. There are so many thoughts clustering your thought process that your head is beginning to ache, you can feel a soft knocking in the left side of your cranium, you decide to focus your being on Gamzee and his long breaths. After a while you began to dance your fingers about his back, the larger male welcomes the tingling feeling it sends through his body and bites your nape almost ghostly.

"Stay with me," he drawls, "let's go somewhere else together." When you say nothing he whispers, "I have a car."

"Okay, where would we go?"

"Georgia Tech."

Your eyes widen a little and you turn your face into the huge mass of Gamzee's messy hair, "We should start packing then."

"No, leave all this shit here. I want a motherfuckin' new life."

You think for a moment, "Well I have to get my stuff..." You wonder if your father will even notice you've moved halfway across the country, "but other than that we should send-,"

"No. I got in anywhere I motherfuckin' applied to."

"Oh, okay, so-,"

"Motherfuckin' tomorrow, we'll hop in the car and go," Gamzee raises off of you, "We're going to fucking drive there? That's like... Forty eight fucking hours Gamzee."

"Nah, I'll have the fucking car transported there, in the motherfucking meantime, let's find out what dorm we wanna motherfucking stay in and shit."

"Okay, do you have a laptop?"

"Yeah," Gamzee moves his body over you and off the bed before disappearing into the hallway; you are left alone in the barren room to think. You're absolutely positive you arrogant, bastard father wouldn't be home for the next few years, Gamzee clearly lived by himself, and you both (you still can't believe Gamzee was as smart as people and he made himself seem) could transfer out of this small ass hellhole with no problems at all. This seemed too easy and have you an empty feeling in your stomach, but you liked this plan; it sort of gave you a rush since you'd never done anything like it before and to put it simply: you feel like a fucking badass.

There were no hurdles on the straight, you decided- looks like you're a yellow jacket now.

"Karkat, there's a flight for tomorrow. Get up so I can drive you back to your motherfuckin' place."

[THE END]

Gamzee's car is sleek with a heavy looking body, it's a Mustang, and seems brand new. He slides his finger across the roof as he travels to the driver's side and when you reach for the door after he unlocks the car you notice heavy titanium decals in the black metallic paint of the handle. Inside it smells like cigarettes- in opposition to weed, surprisingly- and seems clean aside from crumbs and clothes all of over the little bit of space in the back of the car. There is a small juggling club hanging from the rear view mirror, he presses the stop/start button and puts the car in reverse,

"You listen to rap?" You say as he puts the car back in drive and starts out of the parking garage,

"Jazz and rap, motherfuckin' classical too." He yawns. You watch him, slyly, taking eyefuls of Gamzee a glance at a time; in the dim light of the navigation system and street lights in the darkening evening sky his arms seem elongated and lean. As he grips the steering wheel, thick sinews of muscle are revealed,

"What about you?"

You hang your head shamefully before turning to look out your window- you see trees, trees as far as the eye can see,

"I don't really listen to music, I never have fucking time."

Gamzee snorts, and mutters something (about bitchtits?) then presses the volume button on the dashboard. The sound of a steady drumbeat and rhythmic starts of a brass instrument fills your ears, over the instrumental a calm voice "raps", and not about strippers either.

"I like this." You mutter. Gamzee only grins, he turns up the music even more and nods his head before asking, "I make a left here right?" As you guide him your small house Gamzee asks you questions like "what's your favorite color" or "do you have any pets", he nods every time you answer, and you watch him coyly until he pulls into your driveway and waits in the car as you retrieve a duffle bag full of clothes. You return shortly- maybe too quickly.

"Damn, Karkat, you fucking want me _bad_ bro."

"No Gamzee, you fuckass." You glare at him from outside the car until his smile subsides, "What the fuck am I packing? And do you even have money to feed us- let alone for a plane ticket. And you haven't even told me what your issue is." You breathe deeply, "Gamzee I just admitted that I have some _strange infatuation_ for you, and you realize that makes me gay? Right?"

He stares at you, and something gleams in his eyes before he answers, "Karkat my grandfather is a doctor, I inherited my dad's savings, and I have an older motherfucking brother who has some issues. I'm addicted to prescription medication- that's all I can think of _for now_."

"For now?"

"You know. I always fucking hated insistent people- why does there always have to be a reason and history behind things? Why can't we just let shit happen?"

"That was ignorant, asshole; if we never asked why then the Holocaust would have never been stopped."

"Okay, motherfucker, just trust me for now. I have to get out of here, I'm going crazy. Go get your clothes and a toothbrush, we're staying in one of the rooms in the airport before we head out. And for the rest of this trip don't motherfucking question your actions."

You wonder how he got these plans figured out so quickly as you wander back into your home. There isn't much to pack as you stuff clothing, hairbrushes, your toothbrush and a few colognes into your red suitcase. You take on last glance at your room and try to find happy memories, but you can't. You haul your suitcase behind you and tinker down the staircase, leaving your house key on the counter after lock the bottom lock and closing the door behind you.

You can feel your face contorting into a serious expression- you're leaving your unseen future in the hands of Gamzee.

[THE END]

"Alright," Gamzee forces his voice through a mouthful of food while he crumples the aluminum foil that kept his sausage biscuit warm before tossing it into a nearby trashcan, "let's go."

You follow him towards the gate; Gamzee is literally traveling light, he has a small Nike duffle bag slung across his body. Your own suitcase hits your heels every so often. The airport is mostly empty, like the rest of this state, and the attendant at the gate gives Gamzee a peevish look that he dismisses, you glare at her as you follow his lead. Once the two of you have been situated into your seats, Gamzee pulls a rubber band from his pocket and ties his hair into a half-hearted, messy ponytail. He then leans over and lays his head on your small shoulder,

"Gamzee!" You snap at him, "We're in public!"

"You should sleep too; you didn't get a motherfucking snap of sleep yesterday night."

You stare at your boarding pass, it reads Portland, Oregon to Atlanta Georgia, round trip. Gamzee lifts off you to rummage through his bag; he pulls out a pair of purple headphones and places them onto your head. He picks a song on the black iPod that it's attached to, more rap, and then puts the iPod into your hand. You stare out the window with the music playing into your ear, by the time the plane has taken off you and Gamzee are both fast asleep.

_*If you haven't heard_ _The_ _End_ by _Macklemore_ _I suggest you go listen to it- go on, go type it into YouTube._

_And the story is officially beginning. Let's move._


	5. Hold Up

On the way to Buckhead, Georgia the sky was painted a calm grey, the forecast called for overcast and storms all week and Gamzee didn't seem to mind though he commented 'I like sitting in the sun when it's out', you watch him as he stares out the window of the taxi.  
"It's great to be home," he suddenly says, yawning, his long legs turn forwards, knees hitting the back of the passenger seat,  
"You're from here?" The cab driver says,  
"Hell yeah, motherfuckin' born and raised. I'm from more down south, ways in the back."  
"Oh," the cab driver glances at you from the rear view mirror, "you're friend said y'all came in from Oregon. I was thinking you we're some washed out Amish community."  
Gamzee frowned, "Nah, not there, only for school." They were quiet after, and no sooner you and Gamzee had reached your destination.  
Platinum Condominiums were a new high rise, upper class, living vicinity. Not only was it extremely expensive, it was also very exclusive- something you and Gamzee were not.  
"Gamzee, what the fuck," you spit at him, "where are you getting this money?!"  
"Pops is a doctor."  
"And?!"  
"I get a motherfuckin' allowance."  
You let your mouth fall open for only a few seconds before following his lanky ass into the lobby. Inside is mostly glass and modern,there's plenty of space to breathe and its not child-friendly or family inviting- most certainly not anywhere students should be staying either. While you glance around the lobby Gamzee is busy making small talk with with receptionist, she smiles at him kindly and hands him a heavy looking card key.  
"Let's go Kat," Gamzee slurs as he pushes past you with your suitcase. "This is our new home."  
_Our._  
It's sounds odd, but you like it, both you and Gamzee come from homes that are both absent of other organisms who should be there, this is part of the healing process. Gamzee's ponytail is about as long as your hand and bounces as you journey to your room, every once in a while he turns to smile at you, winking randomly.  
"Okay! Okay! Bro, we are motherfucking here!" Yours and Gamzee's room is just beneath the penthouses, you both stand in front of a large, shiny, mahogany door about the size of the wall it was fringed to. Inside the hall were three other doors, spaced out heavily from each other.  
"No shit," you say to Gamzee, "okay open the door."  
Gamzee grins and slides the card key into a slot to the right of the door handle, '_welcome_' slides across a thin black strip above the slot in bright, LED lights. Gamzee fidgets excitedly and looks at you with big indigo eyes.  
"Let's go, let's get it in!"  
"Stop rapping fuckass. They're gonna think there's wiggers in here trying to rob someone."  
"Fantastico!" Gamzee says as he pushes the door open, you wonder if he is fascinated with minorities for a quick moment only to shit yourself when entering the condo.  
It's painted in a soft grey with black and dark blue furniture everywhere, Gamzee says something about getting the blue as he throws himself onto a couch, directly in front of you and to your right is the kitchen, and to your left is a small living area- complete with a geometrically artistic rug and plasma screen tv. You walk straight trough the house and soon after the kitchen and living room end there is a small step and then a long glass table with eight tall, skinny chairs.  
"W-where the fuck are the bedrooms?"  
"Bedroom, motherfucker, and loft." Gamzee drawls, correcting you.  
He's standing next to the most intricately compact ceiling you've ever seen in your life; it led to a huge insertion in the ceiling above the kitchen to make a small bedroom and (assuming that small door all the way to the left was a bath) bath.  
"Main bedrooms down here, bro." Gamsee said, walking into it afterwards, you follow him childishly, overwhelmed by your surroundings.  
The bedroom is a dark blue, same as the leather furniture in the living room, with only two walls actually painted and the other two giant windows that showed a magnificent view of the city and the grey sky. You watch as Gamzee strips off his duffle bag, throwing it into the biggest, most empty walk in closet you've ever seen in your life.  
"We need motherfucking clothes." He says, "I don't have shit." He doesn't even wait for your reply, but instead smiles, "Lenox mall is that away, lets go."  
"I don't even have any money," you laugh as he walks past you, he can't be serious.  
"Nah, I do, bunch of shit just piled up from me not using it."  
"Isn't meth expensive, idiot?"  
He tenses up, but doesn't say anything. But you're glad he doesn't react- you didn't mean to say that.  
_Not at all._  
You're quiet the entire way there, Gamzee starts to worry when you entire the mall, you're in awe of it, having never been to one this big.  
"Karkat, let me buy you something" he insists,  
"Is that really okay?"  
"Yeah, babe."  
You sigh when he moves to the left on the escalator. He wants you to take the lead. Awkwardly, you walk into any store that's appeasing to your eye, Gamzee knows some brands off his back and you allow him to guide you, you're successful in your finds, and so is Gamzee.  
"Awe shit, motherfucker I wants these!" He shouts, like a big fucking toddler, one of Nike's staff comes running over,  
"They're 200 dollars," the guy says with this bitchy smile, he's challenging Gamzee, and now they have the whole store's attention,  
"And these?" Gamzee prods, bitching back at him.  
"370."  
"Give em' to me, motherfucker, and those socks."  
_Great._  
Gamzee gets a standing ovation and ignores it, smiling at you brightly, he takes a seat and ditches his old shoes. His new sneakers are white high tops with the unforgettable Nike Swoosh on the side in a galaxy print and a greenish-yellow sole. When you glance over at the display you read "glow in the dark".  
He's a fucking child. You are convinced.  
Walking out of the store with several more pairs of shoes for the both of you, you turn to Gamzee with an inquiry:  
"I assume you know whatever the fuck you're doing with all this shit that we can hardly even carry since you haven't stopped buying things."  
It was actually more of a sarcastic remark.  
"Karkles, bro, bag boys and van taxis? Use your motherfucking head."  
Your face heats; did he just make you feel stupid?  
_Nobody makes you feel stupid._  
You suck your teeth at him and finish violating the mall. At around 9:30 you both head to a restaurant on the side of Lenox and leave your bags in a huge van,  
"Take these to Platinum," Gamzee points out the condominium to the driver with a threatening demeanor, "if they don't get there I'll know, _and so will your family,_ motherfucker."  
The man nods quickly and literally rips out of the parking lot, you stare incredulously at Gamzee. After eating you head home, on foot.  
Sure enough, the clothes made it to the room.  
You both spend the next hour pulling off tags, removing shoe filling, and hanging and folding clothes. As you finish you survey the closet, one side is Gamzee's and one side is yours.  
"Feels nice." Coos Gamzee, "Feels right."  
"Yeah." You're tired, and you want to shower after trying on so many things- so you do.  
The shower is surprisingly not blue, but completely black. The floor is blue and marble, the inside of the toilet is blue and the sinks and the cabinets. You take your tooth brush out of your toiletry bag and lay it in the sink closest to the shower and do some more visual work. The shower head is huge, and the are three of them, one on the left, the right and in the middle. There are two water handles on both sides of the shower, you step in and to your left hiding underneath the drain until you see the steam off the droplets.  
The water feels great, it's insanely soft and you're sure it's because of the magical shower head. You can think in here, so much has happened since you wee assigned your tutor.  
You made out with the tutor.  
You transferred.  
You left home, permanently, and didn't turn the alarm on.  
You moved into a multimillion condominium.  
You went on a upper, hundred-thousand dollar shopping spree.  
You filled the closet of the multimillion dollar condominium.  
You took a shower in the magical condominium shower.  
Sighing you soap up the rag with the hotel soap and wash around your neck. You had yet to analyze your relationship with Gamzee. When you announced you were going to take a shower he was contemplating what outfits would look the best and trying on a pair of this several sneakers. He hardly acknowledged you, but you knew he heard.  
You wondered if maybe you should get him to a doctor- he had been making homemade drugs in filling himself with them. You'd seen people go through withdrawal before, and Gamzee was making it seem as if it was a walk in the park.  
You were worried about him.  
You said you liked him.  
You did, wiping some soapy water from your face you shampoo your hair, you definitely liked Gamzee. He acted stupid, but he wasn't stupid. He has good taste, he is easy to get along with (for the most part). You aren't sure when you started liking him, you remember being somewhat fascinated by him when you first heard of him.  
Ah, maybe that's it?  
The shampoo stings your eyes a bit and you wash it out, ambling in the hot water. When it's out you draw inwards at your waist and crack your back, then you lean forward, your rear hits the back of the shower and-,  
_No._  
**No that's not the back of the shower.**  
"Feels nice, don't it."  
Gamzee pulls your left arm towards him and your body follows suit. Your entire back and head land against his stomach and chest with a wet smack, you flounder pointlessly, but after almost slipping you stop moving.  
"W-what, the fuck Gamzee." You snap, you can't move, you're embarrassed.  
_"You have freckles on your ass,"_ He begins, placing his large hands on your hips.  
His fingers are so massive they touch your jutting hip bones, you feel something at the sight and are desperate to get away- but you can't move.  
"Gamzee, p-please."  
Stuttering like a bitch. _Ugh_.  
"Huh?" He's not listening to you, and skillfully herds you to the left side of the shower against the black marble walls. He ruts against you, almost unnoticeably, and you stand up straight as Gamzee leans on you, some of his chest on your upper back. He pushes his face into your neck and you let out a breathy sigh, you catch sight of his mane and notice its wet and damp, but not soaked.  
"You smell good,"  
"I'm taking a shower, assh-hat. Fucking asshat." You become impatient with yourself. You can't get 'stop' or 'get off' to come out of your mouth to save your life.  
"Yeah?"  
He bites your neck, then he licks it.  
"G-Gam. He-hey, maybe, you should soap u-up."  
The fuck? What? You aren't even sure yourself what you're saying. He's insanely good at being a pervert, you decide, and he pervs you up so good that you feel it in your loins.  
"Mmhmmm..." Gamzee hums into your neck, you lean into to it (involuntarily of course), and then he begins to suck.  
He sucks with all his might.  
"Ah! Ah-ahhn! That hurts!" You yank your head to the left to escape from his mouth and he turns you around onto your back and pushes you up against the wall so skillfully that you whimper ninja out loud by accident.  
"Cute~," he chuckles, your eyes are stuck on his wide chest, you can't look up. He's so much taller than you he has to bend more than his head and neck to reach where he was going, you use the idea that using the height difference is in your advantage and sink downwards.  
Gamzees not having that.  
He places his left knee in between your legs and as you slink not even two inches downwards you sit on his knee,  
"Gamzee!"  
You shoot upwards and slip, he catches you and there isn't much of a difference, supporting you with his knee and pushing his body against yours he reattaches his lips to your neck.  
He sucks softly.  
And you're completely hard.  
"_Damn_," he whispers, you can't see him looking at your erection but you know that he is, "we should fix that before you motherfucking faint in this bitch."  
"No I ca-!"  
He removed his knee and you land on the shower floor with a smack, it's not painful, but it surprises you. Before you can bad mouth him he falls to the floor with you, he spreads his legs and pulls yours over his and soon your tucked, in all your naked glory, against him and his lap.  
Your erection is against his, and he's bigger than you. He's darker than you, and more manly than you.  
That's hot.  
_What?_  
"Look," he whispers when you throw your face towards the shower handle, "I can fix this."  
Fantastic, Gamzee. Fucking _fantastic_.  
"Look at me." He demands.  
His voice has reached an octave that vibrates through your entire body, you're weak to it and don't even try to challenge him, his eyes are (you swear they are) a vivid purple.  
Your face is feverish when he places his hand on your penis and begins to pump strongly, and slowly. Your mouth hangs open slightly, and you don't look him in the eyes, but rather his face, his beautiful hair- now soaked against his face and curling- and his thick eye lashes. His tongue is not in his mouth, it's prodding at his upper lip in the most slutty manner, there's a slight flush to his face, and as he raises and lowers his arm with his hand the muscles in his forearm and biceps flex.  
**Goddamn.**  
He leans back a little, abs glistening and wet, and you scooch forward, you let your thighs rest on his and place your hand over his, but he smacks it away,  
"Fuck that, touch me. I'm hurting motherfucker,"  
You glance over at Gamzee's throbbing erection, there's a thick vein climbing up the shaft and it waves a bit when Gamzee convulses softly, "Stroke it," he drawls desperately.  
You swallow a mouthful of spit and take Gamzee's cock in your hand, he lets out a long breath and twitches when you squeeze him. He speeds up his strokes on you when you start pumping, your toes curl.  
"Karat." He exhales, "Fuckin' Karkat, damn."  
He leans forward and uses his left hand to pull you into a heated kiss, slamming your faces together, he forced his tongue past your lips and groans in your mouth. You squeeze him hard, and he does the same, making you mewl onto his lips,  
"You feelin' it, right babe?" He speaks quickly and in patchy phrases,  
"_Sh-shutthefuckup_,"  
You want to cum so badly, throwing your head back you moan like woman, there's a surge of white heat flying through your body and blinding you. You're not sure how much more you can take and Gamzee seems to be in a similar situation. His head is bent forward, twice he's made a completely guttural sound in the back of his throat through gritted teeth.  
_"Fuck!"_ He pants,_ "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit!"_  
You can feel his semen slightly before the water from the shower washes it away softly, your own orgasm comes afterwards as you watch Gamzee throw himself backward on the shower floor. His back hits the marble and he flexes his entire body as climax heightens his senses.  
Everything goes black, and the soft sound of Gamzee's panting and the shower water are all you can think about as you drift off into a peaceful, sex-induced sleep.

**[The End]**

Lights stream through the glass walls of your bedroom and shine through the thin skin of your eyelids as you wake up from a deep sleep. The smells of soap and shampoo are intoxicating, you stir lightly and feel a soft texture on your forehead; it's Gamzee's hair.  
He breathes deeply, slowly and loudly, snoring when he inhales. He's sleeping on his side, one arm extended as a pillow for you, and the other wrapped around your waist. His face is the calmest it's ever been. You kiss his nose and he winkles it, creasing his brow.  
You could get use to this.  
Gamzee is insanely handsome. You noticed it in the mall with him yesterday, he was enticing any and every female when he walked out of the dressing room. He looked great in any kind of clothing and his kind facial expressions took the ease off of any situation. You watch with half lidded eyes as he stretches lightly, he's waking up from his slumber.  
"G'morning," he yawns and kisses you, you raise your head to reach him, he bites and pulls your lower lip and it snaps back when he lets go,  
"You were fucking gorgeous last night," he looks at you, his eyes more blue today, "I was surprised you didn't bite my head off."  
Ah, your terrible personality.  
"I... I want to be different with you."  
Gamzee says nothing.  
"I w-want to be the person I want to be with y-you, Gamzee."  
He smiles softly, "I'd like that, but I'd take you the way you are any motherfucking day."  
You kiss him this time, his eyes are wide with shock when you close yours, "You suck at that."  
"I've never done this with anyone shithead!"  
"You're a virgin?" He says loudly,  
"Shut up, Gamzee!"  
"I'm the only one you've kissed?!"  
"Yes Gamzee, what the fuck are you fucking stupid?  
"Mine~"  
"Urghhhh."  
You look at him, watching as he snuggles closer to you, you know that Gamzee can help you change. That's what you want. To be kind, to warm, to be safe. You wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face in his nape.  
You didn't mind all these Romeo and Juliet feelings.  
Because if it was Gamzee, you'd be okay.


End file.
